James P. Hogan (8 page)

“It might be delayed,” Lubanov replied. “They’re still rounding up last-minute recruits from remote locations. That’s taking longer than expected.”

“The guy that makes robots, who wants to bring his whole family?”

“Among others.”

“I can’t see that affecting things substantially,” Dreese said. “If it became urgent, they could be flown here in a matter of days.”

“Probably so,” Lubanov agreed. “But in addition to that, the latest test data is necessitating some adjustments to the drive sequencing. Getting that right could take them longer.”

This was in reference to bringing the
Aurora
up to final flight readiness. In its earlier stages of construction, as key structural components and system functions were completed, the ship had made several test runs to distances ranging from translunar to halfway to the orbit of Mars. But trials of limited range and duration could reveal only so much. The only way to fully learn the performance envelope of a starship and know the conditions it might encounter would be in the final, one-way mission. As a next-best thing, over the years leading up to final launch, a series of scaled-down test platforms had been dispatched to investigate various design concepts, and the information they returned had helped guide the engineering of the
Aurora
’s final form. Lubanov was talking about changes being made as a result of the latest data to come in.

“Are we talking about anything major?” Dreese asked.

“Not from what I gather.”

“So, perhaps a modest extension of the launch date. Not any significant change.”

“That would be the safest way to bet.”

“Could it happen sooner than six weeks?”

Lubanov shook his head. “From the stockpiles of materials and equipment that are still to be sent up from the ground bases, I can’t see it.”

Dreese nodded as if that was what he had been wanting to hear. He regarded Lubanov silently for several seconds, then shifted his eyes unconsciously to emphasize confidentiality. “That is what we have concluded also. I am to inform you that there will be a meeting with Actor for a detailed briefing two days from now. You will be informed of the specifics. It would be good if you can find out more about these drive-sequencing adjustments and what they are likely to involve.”

“The engineering assessment has already been prepared,” Lubanov said. “I’ve requested a copy.”

“How long would you expect it to take?”

“It could be when I get back, if I press for it. Say, tomorrow at the latest. I’ll have it summarized in time for the meeting.”

Dreese nodded. “Good.”

Lubanov allowed a pause and regarded him meaningfully. “Do you think it’s
Winter Rain
?”

Dreese said nothing, but held Lubanov’s eye for a long moment. Then he nodded almost imperceptibly.

It was no coincidence that the military units that had been moved closest to the ground bases were all commanded by officers who had been recruited to Torus.

After Dreese left, Lubanov sat finishing his drink for a while, and then rose to walk slowly along the waterfront. He walked for a long time, deep in thought, taking in the bay, its bridge, and the far shore. The day was sunny and clear, the water blue from the reflected sky. A mild breeze was blowing from the west, bringing freshness from the hills fringing the ocean. At one point he stopped to lean his elbows on the rail above an embankment built upon concrete footings that once formed part of a vast system of docks, from which ships had carried commerce to the far reaches of the world. Some miles farther south along the same shore of the peninsula was an aircraft base serving mainly other places around Sofi and accommodating typically twenty or so machines at any time. Remains could still be seen there of what had been one of hundreds of hubs between which huge air fleets had traversed a global network. Maybe the world would one day know such things again. But if so, Lubanov would never see them. His time for gazing at mountains, bays, and distant shores, feeling natural sunshine and ocean breezes, would soon be over. In a mere few days now, his would be an artificial world in miniature, voyaging toward another star that wouldn’t be reached in his lifetime. He would die out there somewhere, and Earth would be just a memory.

Lubanov’s placement in the Sofian military internal-security apparatus had been arranged some years earlier, when it became apparent that opposition to
Aurora
was growing, and a need for close inside intelligence became crucial. The precaution was well-taken. The original case put forward by the disaffected Progressives was not unreasonable in some ways, and could maybe have been open to deliberation even without occupation of the launch bases. But as time went by and more extreme views added themselves to the movement, its mood became uglier. Now there was talk of stopping the project permanently, to be claimed as a national resource, with some advocating the open use of force to achieve it. This was exactly what some of
Aurora
’s strategists had prophesied would happen. The final weeks of preparation were critical, and there could be no question of allowing the project to be jeopardized by the risk of rogue military units with access to space-capable vessels and Sofian weaponry taking matters into their own hands. Lubanov’s disagreement with the Traditionalist philosophy made him an obvious candidate to be approached by the Torus conspirators as a sympathizer and potential inside informer. That his objections were genuine and not a cover story helped camouflage the direction in which his true commitment lay.

If that was how he felt, why, then, was he going with
Aurora
at all? Why not work for the success of Torus, in precisely the way its planners believed him to be doing, and if better terms were negotiated as a consequence, remain on Earth in the stronger and more stable Sofi that he would have helped bring about?

It was a question of weighing up odds, and Lubanov was, if anything, a pragmatist. He had fled to Sofi and changed his name to escape a revenge vendetta that had arisen from his previous work, and even though that had been long ago, he knew there were still people looking for him who wouldn’t give up. The thug that his department had picked up in Sofi, who had tracked a runaway mathematician all the way from Tranth and just been deported back there again, showed how close they could get. And the people that Lubanov had to worry about were a lot more efficient at what they did than anything that would come out of Tranth.

He had lived long enough with such fellow travelers as fear, mistrust, deception, and treachery. Yes, the sun was warm and the scenery of Earth stirring. But the beckoning stars offered tranquility and inner peace. Having reaffirmed his decision to himself, Lubanov turned and walked away from the shoreline at a quicker pace to take care of the final matters outstanding.

He returned to the Internal Security section of the military administration center on the south side of the city, and went through his normal routine of checking for messages and updating himself on the day’s more crucial activities. An adjutant reminded him of several appointments for tomorrow. Lubanov told him to cancel them, saying he would be away for the next day and maybe more on something urgent that had just come up. Then he went to his office and spent some time going through his files to remove anything suspicious that might trigger an alert in the next forty-eight hours. After that it wouldn’t matter. Finally, he used the monitor on his desk to call Chel. She was the kind of person who loved hikes through the forests and swimming off beaches, the bustle of the town, and the solitude of the desert. Also, she was a dedicated Progressive. She would never have gone with the
Aurora
.

Her face appeared on the screen moments later, pointy and angular, black hair sweeping down one side of her face, almost over her eye. Surprise flickered for an instant – Lubanov didn’t usually call when she was working. “Hey. What’s happening?” she greeted.

Lubanov had to bite his lip before replying. He had been rehearsing the words to himself. “Look, something’s come up. I have to leave for somewhere down south in a hurry. It might be a day or two.”

“Oh. You won’t be back tonight?”

He shook his head. “As I said, it just came up. I should know more tomorrow.”

“Want to tell me what it’s about?”

“Uh-uh. You know how it is.”

She made a visible effort not to look too disappointed. “Well… I hope it doesn’t involve some kind of trouble, anyway – you know, with nasty people. Maybe it’ll make me start some of the things I’ve been meaning to do. Call me when you’re coming back?”

Something seemed to swell in Lubanov’s throat. He nodded mechanically but couldn’t voice the promise. He detested moments like this, detested himself – feeling that he should say more, but at the same time just wanting to get it wrapped up. This was the last time he would say anything to her. She noticed the ambivalence on his face and narrowed her eyes questioningly. Large, dark eyes, deep and sensitive.

“Are you sure everything’s all right? You look kind of strange.”

“Oh, it’s just… I have a lot of things going around in my mind right now.” A stab of resentment at being in this position came out of nowhere, almost causing him to say something sharp, but he suppressed it. “But right now, I have to go.”

“Oka-ay.” The eyes moved searchingly, still showing doubt. “Be careful, Andri, whatever it is. I’ll see you whenever, then.”

“Good-bye, Chel.”

After leaving the building, he walked across the forecourt to the motor pool, booked out a minisize staff car on a three-day requisition, and shortly afterward, drove out through the main gate of the administration center for the last time. His first stop was at a shipping office in the air-travel terminal south of the city, where he had reserved space a week previously to store some bags of personal effects in anticipation of this day. From there he headed on south for the launch facility at Yaquinta, about three hours’ drive away, where a shuttle for the
Aurora
was scheduled to leave shortly after midnight.

Not generally known was that the ground staff at Yaquinta had been reduced to a skeleton crew. Neither was the fact that the daily shipping volumes over the last couple of months had been quietly increased, and as a result Yaquinta’s quota of materials for the
Aurora
was already up in orbit and aboard. The same was true for the quotas assigned to the other launch bases.

On arriving at the gate, Lubanov supplied the pseudonym and password that he had been issued, and was admitted. His first act after entering was to have the operations supervisor transmit a coded message to the
Aurora
confirming that “Redman” had terminated ground work and was on his way. The shuttle lifted off on time, balanced on a lengthening column of plasma glow, several hours later.

Aboard the
Aurora
, Lubanov was met by two officers from the ship’s Police Arm and conducted directly to a room in the Council Center, where a representation of the Command Directorate and its advisors had convened and were waiting. Lubanov reported that the situation on the surface pointed to military intervention, and that the order to move could be given in as soon as two days. The mission’s director in chief was notified, duly arrived, and summoned more of his senior staff and the ruling Council to join the assembly. Shortly afterward, orders went out to the captain and Flight Engineering to prepare for flight readiness within twenty-four hours.

What Lubanov had said to Dreese about delays likely to be incurred over the drive sequencing wasn’t quite accurate. The last data calling for changes had come in from the outward-bound test craft some time ago, and the necessary adjustments were already completed.

Masumichi Shikoba was still awaiting the arrival of some equipment to be installed in the lower-level lab area of his unique apartment-cum-arboretum, and in the meantime had been given the use of working space in an engineering research section of the
Aurora
’s college system. Nath Borden, who attended the Council as the representative of the Recruitment Board, which Masumichi dealt with extensively, called while Masumichi was alone in the office, studying a student paper on algorithms for resolving ambiguities in robotic vision. Humans just “knew,” for example, that the top of a lamppost seen protruding above the roof of a house probably wasn’t a part of the house, but to machines such things weren’t always so obvious. One of Masumichi’s experimental models had recently demolished a small maze of mirrors that it had tried to negotiate with its sonar ranging turned off.

“Are you alone?” Borden asked from the screen. His voice was oddly low and confidential.

“One moment.” Masumichi got up, went to close the office door, and returned. “What’s up?”

“There’s just been a special meeting. Things have started moving quickly, so there isn’t a lot of time right now. I’ll give you the full story later. It will be general knowledge very soon, in any case. Basically, news from the surface is that they might be planning to move against the bases in the next two or three days. The chief has started the countdown to flight readiness. Everything on the ground is being wrapped up. The last of our people down there should be aboard within twenty-four hours. This is it, Masumichi! We’re on our way!”

“Oh.”

Borden looked out of the screen searchingly for a few seconds, as if he had been expecting more of a reaction.

“That’s nice,” Masumichi obliged.

“There’s a piece of unfinished business that I’d like to try and take care of,” Borden went on. “One catch of fish out there that we haven’t netted.”

“The magician,” Masumichi guessed. He was the one who had nominated Korshak for recruitment, maintained contact with him, and then instigated the party’s escape. As far as Masumichi knew, they were the only ones left. The other late recruits from various places had all been brought in already and shuttled up to the ship as part of the precautionary planning for an early liftout.

“We had to wait for the wedding,” Masumichi said. “It was the only way.”